


His Sun

by providentialeyes



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Anal Fingering, M/M, Quiet Sex, Re-upload, Tender Sex, because they deserve some good shit frankly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:41:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25949017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/providentialeyes/pseuds/providentialeyes
Summary: Paytah’s eyes roam, focus pulled away from the act to look over his sun.Pulling him in, keeping him going, but never to stray far.Always, revolving, always bonded to the other man.“Paytah,”His sun says, through a tight jaw, clenched teeth.Eagle Flies is looking up at him, eyelids heavy and expression fierce.
Relationships: Eagle Flies/Paytah (Red Dead Redemption)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	His Sun

**Author's Note:**

> still mad

It’s the quiet. 

Between them. 

Around them, caged in by sewn-together, stretched skins. 

Warm light from neighboring fires barely bleeds through, into their space, across their skin. 

Eagle Flies lays out, knees drawn up and spread open. 

Displayed, in a way. 

The back of his hand covers his mouth, cool against hot breaths. 

Parted lips, little hitches when Paytah’s fingers graze his inner thighs. 

One of the younger man’s hands covers the inner side of his knee, thumb tucked into the crook behind the joint as he spreads the older man’s legs a little further.

Until there’s a stretch to the corded sinew where Eagle Flies’ thigh and groin meet. 

Fingers crawl up, the other hand grazing the fine knuckles over warm flesh. 

The smooth glide of the tops of nails rustling the dark hairs. 

Fingers crawl _up_. 

Press into the stretched skin and sooth over the tightness of it. 

Then they move inward, thread through thick curls then wrap around the base of Eagle Flies’ length. 

The older man sucks in a sharp breath, Paytah’s fingers a contrast of warmth, opposed to the cool air surrounding them. 

Thumb moves up. 

Down. 

Up. 

Down. 

Presses into softer skin, guarded by hair, never to see the sun. 

The fingers framing his kneecap dig in, curl around the battered skin. 

Forever scarred by the stumbling and slipping of a reckless child. 

No less reckless now, but having learned how to catch himself. 

Spare the joints that must carry him daily.

Sacrifice the hands, that already bear scars thick and settled on the high points of his palm’s meat and prominent over the lines tucked into the crooks of his knuckles.

The hands leave.

Return, coated in heady, sweet-smelling oil. 

Slide over the tender skin near his hole. 

Slick the creases and coax the muscle into widening around his fingertip. 

Knuckle. 

Knuckle. 

Until his other fingers stop the push inward. 

Unrelenting. 

Eagle Flies’ eyes are shut, lines emphasizing the contorted expression. 

Paytah wishes he could see the older man’s mouth.

See the part and press of lips with each curl of his fingers. 

Each twist and slide against the warmth and strength within Eagle Flies. 

Letting the older man adjust. 

Unfamiliar with the feeling of the motions he’s often enacted, on the other side of this give and take.

Paytah slowly pulls his finger out, once he feels the relaxing of muscles. 

Dissimilar to the tense of Eagle Flies shoulders. 

The flex of his feet, toes pointed or curled. 

Paytah’s eyes roam, focus pulled away from the act to look over his sun. 

Pulling him in, keeping him going, but never to stray far. 

Always, revolving, always bonded to the other man. 

“ _Paytah_ ,” His sun says, through a tight jaw, clenched teeth. 

Eagle Flies is looking up at him, eyelids heavy and expression fierce. 

Paytah wraps the hand not loitering over his asshole to Eagle Flies’ thigh. 

Pushes it out, splaying the older man’s legs where they had relaxed and settled closer together. 

His sun’s eyes flick up, briefly, feigning annoyance. 

But Eagle Flies’ stomach clenches with the position. 

The act of _being positioned._

A small leniency from the otherwise self-assured man. 

A hellion by usually not-as-precise names. 

_“Keep… Keep going,”_ Eagle Flies finally says, looking up to the gap between bark and heartwood.

Too small to see the stars.

Just the hazy darkness of the night sky, clouded by smoke. 

The fingers move. 

Eagle Flies bites down on his lower lip. 

Sucked in and trapped, tongue-teeth-upper lip-teeth. 

Caught. 

Breath catching as another finger works its way in alongside the first. 

Twists and drags along the walls within him. 

He stretches his neck back, the crown of his head shoved into the blankets below him. 

He lets his chin drop back to his chest, hair pulled and pushed in wild directions by the friction of the wool cradling his skull. 

Twist.

Drag. 

Spreading... And his breath stutters on the inhale. 

Chest rising in little jumps of his sternum, up, up, up. 

Crashing down with a whooshing exhale and a sacred whisper of a moan. 

Quiet, to not be heard. 

To never leave the space they share within the hide partition. 

Savored, regardless, by the younger man. 

“ _Another_?” Paytah whispers, fingers stroking along the muscles of the older man’s thigh. 

Fingers stroking the soft spot inside him that has Eagle Flies’ fingers folding up, fist to fight. 

Fist to fight the sounds he can’t help. 

Not with the slow movement of the pad of Paytah’s fingertip rubbing. 

Rubbing. 

_Rubbing_. 

“ _Paytah_ ,” Eagle Flies’ murmurs. 

Desperation lifting the second syllable to a soft cry. 

Quickly muffled by the knuckle of his forefinger. 

“ _Paytah_ ,” The older man gasps. 

His thighs move to close, his hand not covering his own mouth wraps around Paytah’s wrist. 

Feeling the tendons flexing, joint rocking back and forth under his grasp with each flex of the younger man’s fingers. 

Paytah’s hand pushes against the rise of his leg. 

Moves one knee forward to weigh down the other man’s knee, keep Eagle Flies’ legs open.

Apart, for the space that Paytah occupies. 

Above and before the older man. 

As Eagle Flies’ back arches. 

His heels press into Paytah’s calves. 

Fingertips biting into the younger man’s wrist. 

Hissing and gasping the younger’s name. 

Over and over, consumed and monopolized by Paytah, and Paytah’s influence of each and every thought… 

Feeling.

_Feeling_. 

And Paytah watches his _sun_.

Brilliant

In the way Eagle Flies jerks his own hand away from his own mouth to grasp at Paytah’s shirt. 

_Anchors_ them, wrist and cotton, as he tumbles over the edge. 


End file.
